


Under the Flowers

by chissprincess



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, Barduil Mini Bang, Barduil Mini Bang 2017, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, One-Shot, Post-Hobbit, the very earliest beginnings of a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 11:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11206713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chissprincess/pseuds/chissprincess
Summary: After the events of "The Hobbit," Thranduil and Bard each remember past springs under the flowering trees, and a flowering tree in Dale provides them with a chance for a brief meeting.





	Under the Flowers

The flowers came out like clockwork in Doriath, and like clockwork Elves young and old alike dressed in their finest to celebrate. Many chose shades of white, red, and pink to mimic the flowers themselves. But Thranduil chose a pale, soft gold, just a shade or two darker than his own hair, sprinkled liberally with pearls and diamonds. He flitted this way and that through the crowds, stopping to join conversations or taste the treats being carried through on elaborately-decorated trays. Finally, he made it to the area that had been cleared for dancing. It was already full of Elves, but Thranduil didn’t mind. He just stepped into the clearing and others made a space for him, as they did for anyone who wished to join the revelry. He twirled through the dance, sometimes dancing with others and sometimes by himself, the seemingly endless music carrying him through everything from the complex choreography of a set dance to the carefree steps of a dance dreamt up in the moment.

A hearty gust of wind blew through the trees and sent clouds of petals falling over the gathered Elves like the snowflakes of a sudden and brief winter storm. The falling petals drew murmurs of appreciation from the Elves, who reached up to catch falling petals and laughed as they plucked petals from each others’ hair and clothes. Thranduil joined them, pausing in his twirling to reach up with cupped hands to catch as many petals as he could. He looked down at them in his palms and admired them. The petals were soft and delicate, a lovely pink so pale they were almost white, the faintest scent of flowery perfume clinging to them. 

A softer breeze blew through and Thranduil relinquished his petals to it, watching them tumble from his hands and eventually reach the ground. He tilted his head back to look up at the trees around him, the carefree smile gone from his face. He wondered if there would be trees like this where his father was going…where HE was going, too. His father, Oropher, hadn’t said much about where he planned to go after they left Doriath, only that they were going. He wondered if Oropher even had a plan at all. For all they knew, Thranduil thought, there wouldn’t be any trees at all where they wound up.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the summons of another Elf, calling him to join several others in a group dance. He grinned a little and nodded as he joined the group, thoughts of mysterious places and their potential lack of flowering trees forgotten. For now, he would focus on the present, and on remembering as much of tonight as he could.

 

*** *** ***

 

The dark-haired young boy watched as the last of the barges pushed away from the docks, and he huffed, tossing a medium-sized stone into the water. It gave a rather satisfying plop as it hit the water and sank, but did little to cure Bard’s frustration. He raised his eyes and looked towards the far shore, where the first of the barges had already landed. This one was a relatively plain barge, bearing the servants who were tasked with putting up the tents and furniture for the party to be held on the shore. Bard watched them for a moment as they set about erecting the first tent, a gaudy thing whose bright colors could have been seen from Dale, or so Bard felt. The tent work soon got boring though, and so Bard turned his attention to the rest of the barges, making their way from the Laketown docks to the far shore in a neat line. The boats themselves reminded him of the even stitches his mother put into the clothes and other useful items she sewed for the family. The ones closest to shore were plain, and bore the rest of the servants who were going to provide food and entertainment for the Master’s party. And speaking of…Bard let his eyes wander down the line of boats to the last few, the ones still close to the docks, until he found the Master’s boat. It was unmistakable. Where the other boats were mostly undecorated, just good wood and sturdy construction, the Master’s boat was even gaudier than the tents going up on shore. The sides were painted bright colors, with carved decorations all along the upper edges and especially on the prow, where a figurehead would have gone on a much larger ship. Inside the Master and his family (all of them grown fat and rich off trade that somehow never seemed to enrich the rest of Laketown) lounged on pillows and blankets of colorful silks, while their personal servants did all the hard work of rowing. Even amidst the riot of colors from the pillows and blankets and canopy, Bard could make out the garish costumes of the town’s current Master and his family. He scowled.

Bard continued to watch from his hiding place as more of the barges with servants pulled up on shore and those with the Master and his various sycophants made their lazy way across the lake. He finally allowed himself to look past the rising tents to the actual focus of the celebration, the flowering trees at the edge of the nearby forest. Despite having grown up on a healthy diet of nightmarish tales about the fates of all who entered the forest at the wrong time or for the wrong reasons or without just the right amount of respect, Bard still wanted to go there. He wanted to get a good close look at the flowering trees, to feel the breeze on his face, to wander into the forest and see what wonders hid there. He knew that hunters went in from time to time but surely there must have been more to the forest than the scrawny rabbits and other small game they brought back.

It just wasn’t fair, really, it wasn’t fair at all, and –

“Bard,” his father’s voice said behind him. Bard jumped and almost lost his balance, but quickly regained his footing enough to not fall into the lake. “You best be doing something useful there, lad,” his father continued. Somehow the man’s voice was stern, a bit exasperated, absolutely exhausted, and terribly loving all at once. Bard turned to look at him and dropped another rock into the water.

“Just…watching the barges,” he muttered. When his father didn’t say anything, he continued, “It’s just not fair, Da, it’s not. Why do they get to go have a party and the rest of us just have to stay here cleaning fish and begging for scraps?”

His father looked out at the boats and the tents and the trees. His lips pressed into a hard line, and clearly, there was at least some part of him that agreed with his son. “Indeed,” he said. “But Bard, you don’t really want to be there with them, do you?” Bard tilted his head, and his father continued, “Sure they’ve got riches and an easy life compared to the likes of us. But son, we’ve got more important and valuable things than that…Pride. Integrity. A sense of honor and justice. True hospitality. The strength to weather any storm this old lake wants to throw at us.” He looked down at his son and nodded. “In the end, those are the important things. Those boats of theirs could sink any second, all the fancy food and frilly pillows winding up at the bottom of the lake, and they’d be left with nothing. But we’ll always have something. Now come help me finish mending these nets.”

Bard took one last look out at the boats. The Master’s boat was almost to the shore, and he could already hear the faint strains of music as the musicians began their entertainment. As much as he wanted to believe his father, he couldn’t help but be jealous of the people who got to party and feast and enjoy the flowers instead of mending dirty old fishing nets that day.

 

*** *** ***

 

Thranduil tilted his head back a bit to look up at the tree. The re-built Dale had made so much progress in the last few years. To Thranduil it seemed like just yesterday that they had defeated the dragon and the Orcs, gathered their slain from the battlefield, and returned home to deal with Mirkwood’s ever-worsening problems. 

On the other hand, it felt like all the Ages of the world had passed since he had last seen a tree like this.

There had once been flowering trees throughout Mirkwood, back when it was the Greenwood and his kingdom was new. They had been especially plentiful around the place his father had chosen for their settlement. But that place had long since grown dark and nothing bloomed there anymore. And as the blight has spread throughout the forest, the trees farther and farther away had ceased to bloom. It had taken all of his centuries of maturity, every ounce of gravitas gained from being first the Prince and then the King, to stop from staring like a small child when he first saw the flowering trees at the edge of the forest around the Long Lake as he and his entourage had made the journey to Dale. But now he was alone in the garden. Everybody else was still occupied with the feasting and dancing indoors. He listened to the soft strains of music wafting from open windows and doors that he couldn’t see as he studied the flowering tree.

The branches hung low, heavy with flowers, and he reached up to delicately cup a clump of them in his hand. Slowly, careful not to break the branch, he drew the flowers closer to his face. He turned them just the tiniest bit so he could study every interesting point of them, counting the petals and admiring the way the darker pink in the center faded to near-white at the tips. He sniffed, the perfume both familiar and new. Something he remembered from Doriath, but…not quite. He had been told that the humans didn’t smell much from these flowers, and he felt a twinge of sadness for them, that they couldn’t enjoy that aspect of the flowers the way he could. He let the flowers go and they bounced up and away from his hand, bobbing in the slight breeze.

The music stopped and he could hear a smattering of applause and cheers from the revelers inside. Soon, a new tune started. It wasn’t at all Elvish, but something in the rhythm reminded him of his youthful days in Doriath, and the music played at the spring parties there. Thranduil glanced around once more to make sure he wasn’t being watched, then positioned himself as though facing a partner for one of their more formal group dances. He bowed in the general direction of the tree before moving through the half-remembered steps of the dance. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been dancing when he moved through a turn, one arm raised in an elegant curve over his head…and stopped dead. There, leaning casually on another tree in the garden and grinning at him in an oh-so-cheeky way, was Bard. Thranduil immediately dropped his arm and frowned.

Bard just chuckled and clapped his hands. “Very nice,” he said. “An Elvish dance, I assume? We don’t dance like that around here and I can’t imagine you dancing a Dwarvish dance.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “I was most certainly not dancing.”

Bard raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you weren’t, were you?” he teased. When Thranduil glowered at him more, he laughed. “Well that was some very elegant not-dancing, then.”

“Most people would think twice before laughing at the Elvenking,” he said, choosing to call himself by the name he knew most outside of his realm used for him. “Or accusing him of lying.”

“Hmm, true, true,” Bard said. “But as you may remember, I’m not exactly most people.”

Now it was Thranduil’s turn to laugh. “No, that is…quite accurate.” He glanced around and moved back until he was closer to the tree trunk, and settled down to lean against it. “It’s marvelous, really, how this tree has grown so tall and strong in the middle of the town.”

Bard nodded and joined him, ignoring the raised eyebrow Thranduil gave him as he sat down. “Supposedly it was here for ages,” he said. “Not sure how it escaped Smaug though. But I’m glad it did.”

“The world is indeed full of mysteries,” Thranduil agreed. He tilted his head back to look up at the flowers. The light breeze made them sway, and through the gaps in the branches, he could see the moon and the stars. “A long time ago, long before your family line even existed, long enough that it feels long even to me, I lived in another part of the world, and we celebrated the trees like this each year too. Very much in the same manner as you and your people – feasting and music and dancing. When my family and I left to come East, the forest was a very different place and for some time we were able to continue the festivities…but things are different now. Though we still mark the springtime we no longer have the flowers to admire while we celebrate.”

Bard listened quietly, focusing on Thranduil’s every word. He had only known the Elvenking for a few short years and he often felt that getting to know him in any serious, intimate way would be impossible. It was almost unheard of for Thranduil to open himself up like this, to anyone. The rumor (and Bard was certainly never going to ask for confirmation) was that Thranduil’s own son had left at least partly due to a poor father-son relationship. He wondered what he had done to wind up in Thranduil’s good graces to the point where he would be allowed to hear about the Elf’s history. When Thranduil finished, he nodded.

“When I was a child, the Master of that time and his family would take their supporters to the shores for a party every year,” he said. “We had trees like this at the edge of the forest and they liked to sit in gaudy tents and listen to music and stuff themselves with enough food to feed an average family for a month while they looked at the trees.” He sighed. “I was always so angry… and so jealous.” He shook his head. “I…I’m not…becoming what I hated, am I?”

“By holding this party?” Thranduil asked. He saw Bard nod out of the corner of his eye. “I have learned a great deal about leading in my time,” he began. “Most of it through trial and error. One thing I know is that celebrations are important. They raise spirits and give everyone something to look forward to. In this way, they are not frivolous, they are necessary.” He turned to look at Bard and added, “The problem with the former Master’s parties was not that they existed or even that the Master enjoyed them, but that you and the other Laketown residence could clearly see what was happening but were not allowed to attend. You are not becoming what you hated…you are becoming the leader your people always needed.”

Bard seemed satisfied with that answer, and he turned his attention to the tree and the sky beyond it. Thranduil too fell silent and tilted his head back, resting it on the tree trunk so he could also admire the flowers and the stars. The music changed again and they listened in silence until Thranduil decided he liked it enough to hum along a little.

Finally, Bard got up and brushed himself off a little. He eyed the Elvenking for a moment, then extended a hand to Thranduil. The Elf was too busy staring up at the stars and flowers to notice for a moment, but soon his eyes slid from the flowers to Bard’s hand, and then to Bard’s face. He blinked and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Come on,” Bard said. “Let me show you one of our dances.”

Thranduil’s other eyebrow shot up to join the first. “What?”

“Oh, come, don’t be shy,” Bard said. He wiggled his fingers and grinned. “You know you want to. I saw you dancing.”

Thranduil huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You spied on me, you mean,” he said. “Apologize first or I will refuse.”

“I was not –“

“Apologize,” he repeated. His tone was deadly serious, but his eyes had a mischievous sparkle to them. “Or risk inciting a horrible incident between our two kingdoms.”

“Oh FINE,” Bard huffed. He gave Thranduil a deep bow and said, “I am DEEPLY sorry for having spied on you, Oh Elvenking, and I hope you can forgive a mere mortal his curiosity.”

Thranduil laughed and got up on his own, and Bard chuckled along with him. “Apology accepted,” Thranduil said. “Now, about this dance you wanted to show me…?”

Bard casually stepped forward to arrange Thranduil’s hands where they needed to be, and waited until the next tune started again to guide him through a relatively slow and stately dance compared to most of the other tunes played that night. 

*** *** ***

Thranduil had to leave the next morning. He had his own celebrations to attend to in Mirkwood, and happy as he had been to accept Bard’s invitation to the Dale festivities, he knew it would be almost a disaster if he didn’t make it home in time for his own peoples’ feasting and dancing. As he finished the last of his preparations for leaving, Bard came to see him off.

“It’s a standing invitation,” Bard said. “I expect to see you back here next year.”

Thranduil nodded and gave him a sly grin. “Next year maybe I can show you how the Elves celebrate,” he said. “And teach you one of our dances.”

“Looking forward to it,” Bard said. Before he rode off, Thranduil just smirked and winked at him.


End file.
